Sports Of The Wealthy Novels & Stories

"Theodore Kingsley. USATF board member. That Theodore Kingsley?" He shrugged. "It's not a big deal." Not a big deal. I stared at him. The BMW. The rose gold iPod. The graduation party at an expensive lounge. The casual way he threw money around like it meant nothing. It all made sense now. Mark wasn't just some rich kid with a nice car and a trust fund. He was practically gold. His father wasn't just wealthy. He was one of the very pillars holding up the sport I had dedicated my entire life to. The sport I competed in. The sport I coached. The sport I just got fired from.

The venue was teeming with the crème de la crème of society, individuals adorned in shimmering gowns and expensive suits. The women, with their chins held high, paraded in exquisite dresses, each embellished with rare gemstones, jewelry crafted from the finest stones. They reveled in showcasing their affluence. Meanwhile, the gentlemen, engaged in conversations about business, boasted about their achievements, recounting tales of building empires upon empires. From filthy rich businessmen to powerful politicians and renowned celebrities, they all gathered to witness the engagement of the formidable and one of the most sought-after bachelors in town, Fabian Luigi Romano, to the sole heiress o

Me in that silver dress, standing far too close to Alexander Lancaster. His hand was at my waist. I remembered the moment his touch, the confusion in his eyes. And now it was plastered across the internet. The headline was bold and cruel: **'Nichole Adams Caught in Scandal with Billionaire Alexander Lancaster — Betrayal Runs in the Family?’** My stomach dropped. “Oh God…” Claire exhaled slowly. “It’s already everywhere. T*****r, gossip sites, even some business pages.” I took her phone, scrolling through the comments.

“Did you see anything in the room at least, that could help you Identify him? I hesitated, the watch flashing in my mind. “I know he's rich, like filthy rich. He had a Patek Philippe Grandmaster chime on the nightstand.” Laura blinked, “I've heard that name before,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Isn't that Scott's dream watch?” She asked. I nodded, my chest tightening. “ It is.” “Oh Linda, I'm so sorry for bringing him up.” She apologized. “It's fine,” I said softly.

Never for once had the billionaire witnessed Brian’s troubles, even only a handful knew Fanny had on insane son, and he was glad over the falls the meetings were hosted he had not recorded any emergency, perpetrated by Brian. So this day the meeting opened with the first fall. All over the compound and field of Fanny’s mansion seemed as if he was into sales of fleets of cars; expensive luxury cars for that matter. A few of the billionaires grazed the occasion in their private jets. The Rio Hondos had often seized such time to have a glimpse of wealth with their eyes and it was recorded that such meeting had never been witnessed in the whole of counties in Texas. In such day the Rio Hondos al

They could sit at the same table as the Apex wolves, but they could also be replaced, discarded or ignored at any time Then came the ones who had money, but nothing else. Their families were rich. Filthy rich, even but they held no real influence in werewolf society. Their parents were business tycoons, corporate heads, or successful traders who had bought their way into LuxeMount. They had the luxury, the privileges, the expensive cars and designer clothes, but when it came to real power? They had none. Money could get them into rooms, but it couldn't buy them the respect of those born into power.

"The Wilton's are hosting a brand exhibition, and as a family friend and business partner, I was invited, I wanted to know if you wanted to come with" "The Wilton's" Emily said in surprise as she put down the spoon. "Like the Wilton's Wilton's" she asked. "Yes" Brian replied still trying to understand why she was so surprised. The Wilton's were one of the richest and well respectable family in the country, Mrs Wilton, owns the biggest fashion brand in the country, Emily has always dreamt of having a fashion brand like Mrs Wilton, she had watched past brand exhibition, and had always wished she could attend one in person.

Anyone can tolerate just about anything for two months. The truth was, the Hamptonites and the Townies disliked each other but they had been using each other for so many generations they became dependent. Like a dysfunctional symbiotic relationship. And it turned out they sometimes had common interests that united them. Like their mutual hatred of The Billionaires Club. The Billionaire’s Club was exclusive and had only two thousand members worldwide. The entry f*e? Be a billionaire. Members of the B-Club had so much wealth it created a gravitational pull and anyone within range was sucked into their Super Nova of alternate realities. A wonderful place where they were entitled to anything the

Brandon announced, driving through multiple expensive-looking cars to find a parking space. When we got out, it looked like an environment where the wealthy gathered to get acquainted. I wasn't mistaken. It was a function supporting a new hydro-electrical project. The wealthy always wore fake smiles while shaking hands, and you would know that the majority didn't like one another. They were only trying to look civil and accept the irritating presence of the next person. For them, everything was pretty competitive; their clothing, accessories, etiquette, and even the parking spot. Who fights over a parking spot? The rich.

"Never heard of it. Is this a rich people thing?" "The membership dues are not cheap." "I knew it! So why don't you go more often? I've seen the gym in your house." He chuckled. "I take clients there to negotiate. We play golf or there're courts for tennis and racquetball. There's also an Olympic-sized swimming pool, but I only use the attached sauna once or twice a month." "Marshall Brown, the king of boujee," I declared. "Boujee?" "Yeah, you know. Fancy and luxurious. Tell me you aren't that old, grandpa."